


Adventures in Holiday Baking

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural, Superwood - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: Dragons, Harkstiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the Harkstiel Holiday Advent. To catch a dragon, you have to think like one. And sometimes that means baking stollen. Lots... and lots of stollen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventures in Holiday Baking

Jack knew something was wrong when he switched on the light inside the oven to peek at their rising stollen. Instead of rising like the good little balls of yeasty deliciousness that they were, the dough sat in their bowls in stolid lumps, thick and unbudging. Raisins studded their tops like stones on an Ireland hill. He wondered if they'd done something wrong.

So he was still wondering, when Sheriff Jody Mills caught him. She cocked her head. "What's up, Jack? You look worried."

Jack straightened, and gestured at the oven window. "They usually look like this?"

Jody followed his lead and peered into the oven as well. She paused, and frowned. "Huh. No. Wait a minute, though," She pulled the door open and reached inside, and smiled. "A-ha! Did you realize this is an electric ignition oven?"

Jack's brows went up. "Meaning?"

"Meaning there's no pilot. You have to preheat the oven first before you put anything in here to rise, otherwise it's just a cold box." Jody fished out the bowls of dough and shoved them at Jack, then twitched the oven dial. "We'll give it a few minutes, then turn it off and put the little suckers back in." She flashed him a sympathetic grin and patted his shoulder, as he must have looked about as disgusted with himself as he felt.

"So who's all this for?" Jody asked, "there's enough stollen here to feed an army. Not that I mind, I'm glad to have all you boys here, as long as you like. It's nice."

"It's to feed an army," Jack replied, without laughing. When she blinked at him in surprise, he shook his head. "You don't want to know. Scout's honor."

Jody snorted. "If you're a Boy Scout, I'm the Queen of England."

"Not with a surname like 'Mills,' Sheriff, didn't you watch The Tudors?" Jack pulled a comical face. His weak attempt at humor didn't dissuade Jody, who put her hands on her hips and glared. She wasn't moving until he gave up the goods, clearly primed by the Winchesters and their ilk to know a smokescreen when she saw one. That was, in fact, the entire reason they'd chosen this location to bake up a monster-sized batch of stollen. Jody had two ovens and a full debriefing on the supernatural. It wasn't in Jack's nature to share information if he didn't absolutely need to, but - considering Jody's expression - telling her was probably more productive than stalling.

"Sam and Dean found a clutch of German Mountain Snake eggs in Canton, about forty kilometers south of here," Jack explained, "Long story. They're going to hatch in the next few days and we need to relocate them before they cause trouble."

"Does this have anything to do with all the destruction in Canton?" Jody crossed her arms, "They called us down to help."

Jack nodded. "This is it."

The Winchesters killed the presumed father, who seemed to be the nest's only guardian. They responded to the strange stories of half a dozen people trampled by a 'massive flying komodo dragon,' which tore off part of the Canton library facade when it first emerged, destroyed a German bake shoppe, and crushed the owner to death while it emptied every single rack of stollen. When they dispatched the creature, Sam and Dean followed its trail of powdered sugar and mayhem back to a nest underneath the library - and a clutch of three eggs.

Jody listened to Jack's truncated version of the story, and whistled. "Why didn't they make scrambled eggs out of those things?"

"We know they're going to hatch around Solstice, but we don't know if breaking the shells early would kill them now, or just make them angry."

Jody waved at the stove. "So… stollen."

"Don't eat it," Jack cautioned, "don't even lick your fingers. There's a sedative in that stuff that'll drop a werewolf. We're just hoping it'll drop a preteen Christmas Dragon."

"I thought they were Giant Mountain Snakes," Jody raised an eyebrow.

Jack grinned. "Depends on the lore."

-

The Christmas Dragon babies were beautiful. Breathtaking. Pale opalescent white, blue at the roots of their scales, they were already as big as alligators when they hatched. Jack couldn't contain his excitement, squeezing Castiel's arm as they stood at the rim of the nest. Jack and Castiel held their loaves of sugary, drugged stollen at the ready, while Sam and Dean waited a few meters away with guns pointed into the pit. They were backup of course; only an idiot would go into a situation like this without backup (not that he hadn't been that idiot on many occasions) , but Jack couldn't help drawing the comparisons between his weapons and theirs. He was a smug bastard and knew it, for more reasons than their strategy.

Christmas Dragons were much sought after by Intergalactic breeding programs. The loss of mythical animals from Earth over the centuries gained quite a bit of attention from the rest of the Universe, as it seemed the people of other galaxies loved dragons just as much as human children. It wasn't easy to look up a reputable operation, but once he had, they were overjoyed to take the little nippers off their hands and sent them three containment pods the following day. These were in the dirt behind them, open and ready to receive their living precious cargo.

The baby dragons tumbled over one another like puppies, writhing around in the leftovers of their mottled green shells. One at a time, Jack and Castiel chucked loaves of stollen into the nest. The babies took the bait as easily and trustingly as toddlers are wont. They paddled up the sides of the nest towards their presumed 'parents,' nearly crushing Jack in their haste to fill their bellies. Castiel dodged towards him, shoved Jack out of harm's way and himself right into the damage path.

As Jack watched, Castiel flickered. His eyes burned bright blue, as blue as the eyes of the baby dragons coming to run him down. There was a sound like massive bird wings, and then… actual wings, rooted to the angel's shoulders and forming a canopy over Castiel's head. Blue green and shimmering with oilslicks of color, they flared out like a startled hawk.

The babies looped back on themselves and rolled into the dust, whickering fear like horses.

Jack rolled to his knees and crouched, watching the scene play out. Castiel stared them down, silent, wings a looming threat above their heads. They rumbled apologies, the vibrations rippling lightly in the earth under the balls of Jack's feet. Then Castiel bent, tucking those feathers in against his body, and offered another loaf of sugary raisin-studded bread. Sensing forgiveness, the babies came on again, slower this time, accepting his gifts delicately, right from his hands.

Jack saw the Winchesters watching with wary awe. That's right boys, he thought, Castiel's still surprising even you.

The baby dragons grew drowsy, stumbling into one another until the three of them curled into a heap. One at a time, Jack, Castiel and the Winchesters lifted each slumbering body and deposited it into a carrier. Fully assembled and filled with cargo, the carriers were too large and heavy to transport. Jack sat on top of one, and sent the breeding operation their coordinates for a pickup.

Castiel drifted over after a few minutes. He leaned against the box, shoulder against Jack's knee. "If they didn't require so much care," Castiel murmured, "I'd be asking to keep one."

"They're gorgeous, aren't they?" Jack laughed. He kneaded Castiel's neck. "But I don't think there's a bakery in Manhattan that could keep one of those little buggers in stollen."

"True," Castiel agreed. His neck tensed under Jack's hand, as Sam and Dean approached.

Dean slung his shotgun over one shoulder. "You said these things'll be off the planet tonight?"

Jack nodded. "Probably half an hour from now. Thanks for the help," he fished a stack of twenties from his pocket and flipped them at Sam with a wink. "Christmas dinner's on me."

Sam shook his head and tried to give it back. "We're just doing our jobs," he said.

Jack pushed at Sam's hand with a nod. "Yeah, I know. Didn't I tell you, though? WonderWyrms pays a little finder's fee - helps make sure the critters are alive and in good health. Wouldn't be fair to keep it all." He switched the subject before Sam could argue further. "You boys are welcome to stay, in which case the first round's on me."

Dean shrugged. "Sorry, we should get back to Jody's and report."

Jack squeezed the back of Castiel's neck and smirked. "Oh, really? I'm not in a hurry. First ones back are probably gonna be scrubbing that kitchen. After seventy pounds of stollen?" He whistled.

Sam and Dean gave one another a long look. When they turned back, their smiles were wry.

"Yeah, okay," Dean chuckled, as Castiel relaxed under Jack's hand, "point."


End file.
